Stan's Guide to Locker Room Politics
by Tell-Me-Tales
Summary: Wherein a bet is made, a junior prom is attended and then ditched, Stan and Carla's relationship sees a few changes, and a certain infamous moniker comes into being. [Starla][AO3 CrossPost]
1. It Started With a Bet

**Glass Shard Beach, NJ**  
 **April 24, 1969**

"C'mon, Ford, help me out here!" Stan pleads as the two enter their school's locker room, "I've got one month before our one-year anniversary, and I can't think of anything to get Carla! I need something that will _wow_ her! Something amazing! Something that will really -" Stan cuts himself off and glares at his brother. "I know that look, Poindexter. And if you dare tell me to get her flowers again, I swear I will find the thorniest, most prickly bouquet of roses in all of Glass Shard Beach and use them to beat you over the head with!"

Ford holds one hand up in mock surrender even as he uses the other to open his locker. "Alright, alright! No more flower suggestions. Though you might still consider them in _addition_ to whatever you decide to give her."

"Nope! No flowers!" Stan insists as he turns to his own locker and pulls out his gym clothes. He tosses them onto the bench and continues, "That girl knows way too much about flowers and I'm pretty much guaranteed to pick the wrong ones somehow no matter what I get her. Plus, Carla says there's this whole flower language thing. I don't know why anyone would want to use _flowers_ to insult someone, but it can be done apparently. I'm not chancing it!"

The other teen rolls his eyes. "You worry too much. If Carla was so easily offended, she'd have dumped you a long time ago," Ford states. He holds his chin in thought, only half-aware that he is saying the words aloud, "Though the idea of using flowers to communicate is interesting. I'll bet there are some books in the library that cover the topic."

"Stop being such a nerd." Stan pulls his t-shirt off and carelessly throws it inside his locker. After tugging his gym shirt on, he adds, "And none of this helps me with my problem."

Stanford pulls his own gym shirt from a hanger in his locker and replaces it with the button-down he'd been wearing. "I don't know what you want me to tell you. I've already listed the usual suspects." The teenager sits down on the bench and begins untying his shoes. "You didn't like jewelry."

"I'm broke and the cheap stuff is tacky."

"You didn't like chocolates."

Stanley snorts and toes off his sneakers. "If you knew how we spent Valentines, you'd understand that one."

Ford looks up at his brother with raised eyebrows.

Stan just shakes his head and smiles. "It went well enough, but Carla and I both agree we'd rather have a regular chocolate bar than anything that comes out of those silly heart-shaped boxes. Handing over a Milton bar doesn't seem too romantic."

Ford shrugs in response and places his shoes in the bottom of his locker. "And you just shot down flowers. For the third time."

"And I explained _why_ ," Stan says.

"You do realize it's not my job to plan your anniversary for you, don't you?" Ford asks in annoyance while exchanging his pants for gym shorts, "I don't know why you're even asking me. I'm not the one that's had a girlfriend for nearly a year." He folds his slacks and places them neatly on the second shelf before grabbing his tennis shoes and closing his locker.

Stan shucks off his jeans and throws them on top of his discarded shirt. "C'mon, Sixer, you seriously telling me that big ol' brain of yours doesn't have anything in it that can help me? You've known Carla almost as long as I have!"

"Stanley, I don't have any experience with romantic overtures or dating. I can't just magically know the answer to everything, let alone the sort of answers you're looking for."

Stan pauses and watches his twin for a moment as Ford ties his laces with a smidge more aggression than he normally would. "Sorry. You're right. Just... If you think of anything?"

Stanford's shoulders relax a bit. "I'll let you know," he promises. Fully dressed for P.E. class, he stands up and leans against his closed locker as he waits for Stanley to finish changing. This is one class he's not in any hurry to get to.

"Thanks."

"By the way," Ford says, "in case she hasn't told you yet, I'll be borrowing her Saturday. We've got a _Galaxy Trek_ marathon planned." He grins as Stan grumbles in response.

"She mentioned. Why do you both have to be such _nerds_?" he gripes as he yanks up his shorts.

"And going back to the flower language thing, I still think it could be an interesting experiment to try conversing via flowers." He stares up at the ceiling as he ponders, "...Do you think Carla would agree to try with me?"

Stan freezes and blinks. "Ford? Ford did you just - Did you really just ask me if -" he sputters for a few seconds, drawing a confused look from his twin. It's Stanford's completely bewildered expression that does it. Stan doubles over in a fit of laughter. The loose, half-done knot he managed before falling victim to his merriment isn't enough to keep his gym shorts secured around his narrow hips and they end up pooled at his feet.

"What?" Ford asks with a frown, "You don't think she'd be interested?"

Stanley gasps for breath and forces himself to calm down enough to say, "'Interested,' Poindexter?" He favors his brother with a mischievous grin and raised eyebrows.

Ford's confusion only continues to grow. "Yes, 'interested': to be excited, enthusiastic, or engaged."

Stanley laughs harder still for a handful of seconds before regaining something of his composure, though he is slightly out of breath and the intermittent chuckle continues to escape him. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Stan decides to be blunt and spell it out for his brother. "Ford, you are literally talking about giving Carla flowers right now. And with a list of words like those, are you _sure_ you aren't trying to steal my girlfriend?"

Ford's face flushes pink. "You know I didn't mean it like that," he gives his twin's shoulder a shove, "Quit being an ass!"

Stanley stumbles a few steps but his amusement remains. "Hey! Hey! I'm not the one trying to seduce to other people's girlfriends!"

The twins' squabble gets interrupted before Stanford can reply.

" _Ugh_ , you still pretending you actually found someone desperate enough to date you, Pines?" The voice of the intruder is, unfortunately, one they know well.

Stanford stiffens. Stanley bristles.

"What do you want, Crampelter?" Stan demands.

Benjamin Crampelter crosses his arms with a huff. "How about for you to stop trying to sell everyone on the idea of your imaginary girlfriend? No one's buying that tripe. It's _past_ time you gave up the gig."

"Look, Benny Boy, I don't know why you seem to think I have to answer to you, but I don't. If I wanna talk about my girl, I'm going to. And I really don't care whether you believe me or not!"

The blond teenager scoffs. "Everyone knows you're the biggest liar in the whole school. I live right next door to you, Pines, and I've never seen this Carla girl you're always on about. If half of what all you've claimed about her was true, I'd've met her by now. Stop embarrassing yourself and just admit she doesn't exist already."

Stan rolls his eyes. "Yeah, 'cause you're the first person on my list of people I want to introduce my girlfriend to," his words practically drip sarcasm as they leave his lips. Stanley smirks as he continues, "Besides, not my fault you're too scared of Pops to stick around much."

Ford ducks his head in a half-hearted attempt to hide the sudden smirk painting his own features. The day the bully had made the mistake of entering Filbrick Pines' pawnshop is likely something all three of them would remember for the rest of their lives.

Benjamin pales but recovers quickly. "How about putting your money where your big mouth is?" he demands, "Junior Prom is just over a week away. Twenty bucks say you show up without so much as a date!"

At this point, several of the other boys in the locker room begin to show interest in the conversation.

Stan eyes his nemesis critically. "A quick twenty bucks just for bringing _a_ date?" he asks, "Thought you were set on proving that _Carla_ wasn't real."

Crampelter snorts and says, "Pines, if you can not only get a date, but convince me the girl is Carla Won't-Shut-Up-About-Her McCorkle, I'll give you _fifty_."

Stan grins and brings his hands together with a clap before rubbing his palms eagerly. "Now we're talkin'! Not you, though, Crampelter. You don't get to judge. You wouldn't admit my date was Carla even if you damn well _knew_ she was." He turns to scan the gathered crowd. "You! Alex! You can be the judge. You've been payin' attention, right?"

Alex Buckley shrugs. "You mean about the bet or your girl?"

"Carla," Stan clarifies, "She's about this tall, brown hair, blues eyes, large hips -"

Alex interrupts, wearing a wry expression, "Fantastic gams, likes to wear flowers in her hair, and won't let you drive your own car because you're a menace on the road?" The last comment earns a short round of snickering from nearly everyone in the room. "Yeah, Stan, we've all heard. Personally, I think Ben is making a fool's bet here - because there's no way you'd have spent the whole year yapping about her if she wasn't real, let alone have gotten Ford to play along - but he ain't the only one who's tired of listening to you go on."

Stan flushes a little at the general air of agreement from the surrounding teens. "Oh, uh, yep. That sounds about right." He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously and pretends he doesn't hear Ford's quiet laughter.

Bet set, the group disperses soon after and most of the boys return to their previous activities. Stan can just make out a few different whispered conversations about side bets already being made.

Ford clears his throat. "Well, you've made a bet you'd be hard pressed to lose, but I thought you were broke?"

"Oh, right," Stan looks at his twin and asks, "Can you spot me fifteen? Pretty sure I've got at least a five left in my wallet."

Stanford gives a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, but I want _twenty_ back regardless of whether or not Alex confirms to everybody that Carla does, in fact, exist."

The teenager shrugs. "Still nets me forty-five bucks I didn't have before. Thanks, Poindexter," Stanley says with a wide grin and pats Ford on the shoulder.

Ford snags Stan's arm when his brother starts to head for the locker room's exit.

Stan looks back at him and blinks. "Sixer?"

Stanford allows himself an amused smirk. "Stanley," he returns before pointing behind himself at Stan's still-open locker and the gym shorts that lay forgotten on the floor in front of it, " _Pants_."

His brother's face takes on an entertainingly red hue. "I knew that."

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	2. Carla-Baby

Carla scans the parking lot in front of her school for her boyfriend's El Diablo. Upon finding the car in question, she waves goodbye to her friends and makes her way through the lot.

Stanley is already lounging across the backseat by the time she arrives, leaving the driver's seat open for her. "Hi, guys!" she chirps as she opens the door and hands her backpack over to her boyfriend. She slides into the car, adjusts the seat, and starts fussing with the mirrors. "New book, Ford?"

"Oh, yes. We made a quick stop at the library on the way," he replies, angling the cover so the girl can read the title for herself.

"'Victorian Flower Language: A Guide for the Sentimental,'" she mumbles lightly.

"'Mental' is right," Stan grumbles in response as he sets his girlfriend's bookbag next to the other two already resting on the car's floor behind the front passenger seat, "The whole idea is crazy."

"What has you in such a mood?" the girl asks with a frown.

"Nothin'."

Ford rolls his eyes. "Ignore Stanley," he advises, "I reminded him that presenting your date with a corsage is still expected for certain events. He's been in a foul mood since."

Carla raises her eyebrows and looks at Stan. Her unspoken question is clear enough.

"Right, right," he mutters under his breath and rubs his thumbs over his index fingers a few times. Stanley squares his shoulders and leans forward. "So, not this Friday, but _next_ Friday is our school's junior prom. I, uh, thought maybe you wouldn't mind going."

She breaks into a bright smile. "You're asking me to your prom?"

Stan relaxes at her delighted expression and smiles back. "Yeah."

"That's - Wait." Carla squints at her boyfriend. "You're asking me to a school dance?"

"Um, yes?" he says, nervous once more, "I mean, we've gone to other dances, and you seemed to like them, so -"

"At my school," she interrupts, "I've asked you to dances at _my_ school before, but this is a first. You _hate_ your high school."

"That's because there's not much to like about it," Stan grumbles before trying again, "but prom is supposed to be a big deal, right?"

By this point, Carla has managed to turn around so that she is kneeling backward in the driver's seat, her chin sitting on top of the headrest as she scrutinizes Stanley's expression. "Well, not as much as a _senior_ prom, but still pretty big, yeah." The girl's brow furrows. "That's not what this is about, though, is it? Stan, I don't want you to feel obligated to take me to some dance just because it's a 'big deal.'" She uses her right hand to make air quotes while keeping her left arm wrapped around the back of the chair.

"No, no!" he hurries to assure her, "I just thought, uh, maybe we could -"

Carla glances over at Ford while Stan continues to ramble and is surprised to find a smug, highly amused grin covering the other teenager's face. "You know what this is actually about!" she exclaims while pointing a finger at him. The girl's right hand quickly catches hold of the headrest when her balance falters and she nearly falls onto the steering wheel behind her. Stanford's grin only stretches wider. "Alright, Poindexter, I can tell you're practically bursting at the seams, so _spill_ ," she reaches over and pokes his shoulder as she says the last word.

Ford is only too eager to comply. "Stan made a bet!"

"You RAT!" Stan accuses and kicks the back of Ford's chair, for all the good is does him. He sinks back into a grumpy slump and crosses his arms with a huff. The apparent ease with which both his twin and girlfriend ignore him does nothing to help his mood. He grumbles under his breath, "Shoulda known better than to introduce you two in the first place."

Ford continues as if he hadn't been interrupted at all, "He gets twenty dollars if he shows up at Junior Prom with a date, and it goes up to fifty dollars if he can convince everyone his date happens to be one Carla Anne McCorkle."

Carla's eyes light up in understanding and she snaps her fingers. "So, there's money and male ego on the line!" she says, "See, now that makes a lot more sense." She refocuses her attention on boyfriend and states, "Stanley, I will absolutely go with you to your prom."

Stan perks up at her words. "Well, that's good, 'cause I didn't exactly have a -" he freezes like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck once he finally looks up at her. Carla's smile is bright and her eyes are dancing and Stanley doesn't dare move as he waits for the other shoe to drop because he knows that expression too well. Mischief. That is the face of mischief, and the only question now is whether the next words out of his girlfriend's mouth make his day or ruin his week. (An over-exaggeration, maybe, but that seems to be how it generally goes.)

" _But_ ," Carla chirps, "I want half."

Ford cracks up and hardly even notices when Stan kicks the back of his chair again. "This keeps up and I won't even be seeing a payday at the end of this stupid bet," Stan grumbles before making a counteroffer, "Fifteen?"

Carla shakes her head and grins wider. "Twenty-five."

Stanley groans and nods. "Alright, deal," he holds his hand out, "twenty."

" _Five_ ," she prompts.

Stan pouts but amends, "Twenty-five."

Carla's small hand slides into his far larger one and gives it a firm shake. "Pleasure doing business with you, Pines."

Her cheeky expression pulls a smile out of him despite his efforts to suppress it. "Yeah, yeah, rub it in, why don't ya?" he says gruffly.

"Mm, maybe later," she quips lightly. Carla hooks a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him forward into a kiss.

Stan hums in contentment as the kiss winds down. "Okay, I feel a bit better now," he confesses.

Carla giggles. "So, a dance at _your_ school, this time," she says, voice low and soft and quiet. Her hand sneaks up from his neck to play with the short hair covering the back of his head, earning another contented hum from her boyfriend.

"Mhm," he answers lazily. His own hands find their way around the car seat separating them. His right hand settles on her back and its fingers quickly get lost under the multitude of brunette curls. The other hand claims a spot at her ribs and his thumb brushes a slow path back and forth over the side of her breast. Their current position ensures he won't be able to push things as far as he wants to, but that's probably for the best, seeing as the world's most half-hearted chaperone is still in the car with them; even if his brother _is_ valiantly trying to ignore them both by burying his head ever further into his library book.

"That mean we're bringing Ford with us?" she asks.

Stanley shrugs. "Not like the nerd has his own car."

"'The nerd' does not remember ever expressing any interest in going to this dance in the first place," Ford cuts in without looking away from the pages in front of him.

Stan blinks and looks over at his brother. "What?" he questions, "You don't want to see Crampelter's face when he loses the bet?"

"Well," Stanford's expression becomes thoughtful and he admits, "perhaps a little."

Stan reluctantly pulls away from Carla. He slides over to the middle of the bench seat and places a heavy hand on his twin's shoulder. Ford finally risks looking up from his book. "Buddy," Stan says gravely, "I hate to tell you this, but you don't got much choice."

Stanford frowns at him. "How so?"

"Just think it through a minute. Like Carla said, this is a dance at _our_ school, not hers." He can tell his brother isn't putting the pieces together so he adds, "How do you think Ma's going to act if I go and you stay home?"

Ford's face pales. "Oh, God," he mumbles.

"That's right!" Stan announces, "She's gonna spend all night checking in on you and fussing over her _poor baby_ who didn't go to his own _prom_. Never mind the 'junior' bit, you know she won't!"

"You've made your point! Going to the dance suddenly seems to be the lesser of two great evils." He runs a hand over his mouth and down his chin. "I liked this whole prom idea a lot more when I thought it was just going to be _you_ suffering through it," he says to his twin.

"Hm, I don't know," Carla muses as she starts the car. A quick look around reveals that the entire parking lot is now empty except for the Stanleymobile and the cars belonging to the faculty members. "It sounds like this just became a win-win situation for _me_ ," she shifts the car into gear and absently adds, "Seatbelt, Stanley."

Stan and Ford share a confused look as he obediently slides back behind the driver's seat and pulls the belt over his chest. Curiosity - and, perhaps more accurately, _impatience_ \- gets the best of Stanley first, this time, and it prompts him to ask, "Okay, I give up. How is this a 'win-win situation' for you?" He almost wishes he hadn't asked the question when she glances back at him through the rearview mirror and he realizes that the same mischievous expression from earlier has returned to her face once more.

"Well," she draws the word out, "either we're finally getting a double date out of Ford, or I get to walk into your prom with a hot twin on each arm."

" _Carla!_ " The single word, her name, sounds like it's been choked out of a stereo system in desperate need of repair, the speakers slightly out of sync and _completely_ out of tune with each other.

Ford slouches down in his seat and pushes his glasses up in order to cover his face with his hands. He can feel his cheeks burning under his palms. His soft groan is drowned out by the loud cackling coming from the back of the car.

"Oh, oh man," Stanley gasps as his laughter calms down to intermittent chuckles, "Carla. Carla-Baby, _no_. Fordy's just going to have to find his own date. I have to share you with him too much as it is."

Carla gives an over-the-top melodramatic sigh and matching pout as she says, "Just spoil all my fun, why don't you?"

Stan leans forward. "Well, not _all_ your fun, I hope," he practically purrs the words as he slips his hands around her seat and -

Carla yelps at the unexpected contact and the car swerves in the lane for a moment before she can regain control of its movements again. "Stanley! _Driving!_ " she hisses, using one hand to swat at his wrists, "We talked about this!"

Ford lifts his head and glares at his brother, though he's slightly off target and poorly focused with his glasses still sitting on top of his head. " _Not_ the time, Stan."

Stanley leans back again and holds his hands up in surrender. "I'll be good," he promises. Neither of the two in the front look like they're inclined to believe him. He settles further against the backrest and contemplates the convertible's roof for a moment before trying a different tactic. "Besides, we all know _I'm_ the 'hot twin.'"

Carla's quiet, amused snort followed shortly by Stanford's louder, annoyed groan is all Stanley needs to hear to know that he'll be forgiven for his latest stunt by the time they reach their destination.

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	3. Homecoming

"We're home!" Carla announces loudly as soon as she enters the front door of the Pines' Pawns building. It's an old joke by this point, and half-true besides, given how often the girl visits the establishment and the apartment above it.

Filbrick Pines glares from behind his reflective sunglasses at her greeting.

"McCorkle, what have I told you about doing that when I have customers?" the man demands.

Carla stops short, barely paying attention as Stan and Ford step around her and head up the stairs. "What customers?" they hear her ask followed shortly by an embarrassed, "S-sorry!"

Maude Pines is busy chatting away on the phone when the two reach the top of the staircase, but by the time the twins have thrown their bags into their room and come back out, she's waiting for them. "Here's my two babies!" Ma says cheerfully. Stan wonders how many suckers she's reeled in today to put her in such a chipper mood that she's willing to let her current mark off the hook early just to welcome them home. The woman kisses Ford's cheek first and then Stan's. "So, how was school today?"

"Fine, Ma," they chorus. Stan pauses a beat before adding, "You seem happy. Good day for the psychic hotline?"

"Oh, sure, but that ain't it," Maude grins and says, "Postman delivered another letter from Shermie this morning. Still in good health, missing home, the usual. It's on the table if you boys want to read it."

That would do it, then. Shermie's letters are almost always a bore but they never fail to cheer Ma up.

"Maybe later," Stan says, even as Ford drifts over to the dining table and begins to skim the letter for himself. Personally, Stanley doesn't have any interest in reading through his strait-laced brother's attempt at what amounts to a good-intentioned con. All it does is leave him wondering what's missing from the lines of crunched cursive. (Whatever is actually going on over in Nam, his oldest brother isn't telling - not in the letters meant for Ma or his little brothers, anyway. Filbrick and Leslie both get regular letters from Sherman that aren't shared with the rest of the family. Stan's willing to bet good money that the letters addressed to their Dad, at least, have far less sentimental rambling and more bald facts.) "Anyway, Ford and me decided we might go to our junior prom after all."

Ma's eyes practically shine as she claps her hands together in front of her chest. "What changed your minds?"

"Eh," the teenager shrugs, "Carla likes dances so I figured maybe it was worth checking out. Ford volunteered to go as moral support so I don't have to deal with those losers from school alone. Well, ya know, if the tickets aren't _crazy expensive_ or nothing."

"That's his way of asking you to talk Dad into paying for them," Ford translates bluntly - as if their mother isn't already well aware of what Stan is getting at - while he neatly refolds Sherman's letter and slides it back into its envelope.

Maude laughs. "Just leave your father to me," she assures the two, "You got a date yet, Fordy?"

"Er... No," Stanford answers cautiously, returning to stand at his brother's side, "Most of the girls at school have probably already been asked."

"Oh, don't you worry, sweetheart. Some smart cookie is gonna figure out how amazing you are someday!"

"Ma!" Ford ducks her reaching hands, half hiding behind his twin.

Stanley snickers and jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Ford. "Carla's already threatened to be his date if he can't find somebody else in time."

Ma regards her youngest child with an amused smirk. "Gonna ditch you for your brother, is she?"

"Nah," Stan dismisses, "sounded like she wanted to try the 'twin on each arm' thing."

Maude cackles and Stanford glares at the back of his brother's head. "Can't fault her taste in men!" Ma crows, cupping her youngest's face in both hands. Stan, unlike his twin, preens under their mother's attention. "You and your brother are the two most handsome bachelors in the whole state!"

"Ma," Ford groans, "your opinion is hardly unbiased. And do you have to encourage this?"

The woman waves her son's words off. "Doesn't make it any less true, and it's not as if I'm gonna argue with my favorite," she says before glancing around the cramped apartment, "Speaking of, where is that girl hid-"

"Sellable condition, McCorkle!" Filbrick bellows from the first floor just before Carla appears at the top of the staircase.

"Never mind." Ma strides halfway across the apartment to greet the girl and plants smacking kisses on both of her cheeks.

Carla grins back at the older woman. "Hi, Ma!"

"Welcome home, honey! Now, what's this I hear about a prom?"

"And, suddenly, we don't matter anymore," Stanley says with an eyeroll, "You know, there are times I could swear Ma loves Carla more than she loves us."

Stanford snorts quietly. "You didn't think she meant _you_ when she said 'favorite' just now, did you?"

"I - Oh."

Ford chuckles. "It's never exactly been a secret that Ma wanted a daughter, Knucklehead."

Stan frowns. "What about Leslie?" he asks.

"Leslie's an adult, and she and Ma didn't hit it off like Ma did with Carla," Ford shrugs and adds, "This is probably the closest Ma's ever going to get to having a daughter of her own."

Carla finally pulls away from Maude and bounces over to stand next to the boys. "So I talked to your dad and he said we can take a look through the back room for your tuxes. Wanna see if we can find something that doesn't look too much like a clown suit?"

Stanley wrinkles his nose. "I gotta wear a _tuxedo_ for this thing?"

Carla rolls her eyes and grabs his hand so she can tug him along as she heads back down the stairs. Ford trails after the other two teenagers. "Yes, Stan. It's a _prom_."

"I didn't have to for those other dances!"

" _Prom_ , Knucklehead," Carla insists.

"This whole thing just keeps getting worse," Stan pouts.

Ford doesn't bother to try hiding his laughter.

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	4. Friday

**April 25, 1969**

Stanford glances up from his book as Stanley takes a left out of their school's parking lot. "You remember Carla said she was going shopping for her dress today, don't you?"

"Shit, that's right," Stan grumbles and makes a u-turn that probably isn't completely legal - or at all, really. Ford uses a hand on the dash to brace himself against the tight spin of the car, nose already reburied in his book. "Straight to the beach and the _Stan O' War_ , then?"

"Sure."

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	5. Saturday

**April 26, 1969**

"...TO BOLDLY GO WHERE NO MAN HAS GONE BEFORE."

"I can't believe I'm trapped here while you two are having your lame nerd-film marathon," Stan gripes loudly. Ford waves at him to be quiet, eyes glued to the television even though the episode has yet to properly start and is still going through its opening music. (Not to mention that Ford's already seen this episode - he's seen _all_ the episodes, Stan's pretty sure.) "I could be out on the beach, or hustling a game of pool, or at the gym working on my boxing!" He mimes throwing a few punches.

Carla gives a frustrated huff and grabs his shoulder. "Or you could be still and make it easier for me to work without jabbing you with a bunch of pins."

"Heh, _jabbing_. That was a good one!"

"Unintentional," Carla dismisses, "Now stop moving around so much, and I'll be done sooner."

"Sorry, Baby," he apologizes, "I'm just _really_ bored right now. I don't get why you and Poindexter like this show so much."

"I'm surprised that you _don't_ like it," she answers, slipping a pin into the pink fabric she's working on, "Almost everyone I know watches it at least a little."

"Ugh. _Why?_ It's all nerd-science and talking in techno-jargon."

Carla raises her eyebrows as she slides another pin into place. "That's not how I'd describe it. Have you ever actually tried watching _Galaxy Trek_?"

Ford glances back at them. "I've tried convincing him to give the show a chance, but he's been too stubborn to."

"If you like it, it can't be good television," Stan says bluntly.

Ford twists around on the couch to better face them. "It has advanced technologies for medicine and scientific research and anything else you can think of, and they come into contact with all kinds of strange anomalies, and there are alien societies that -"

"I think I'm beginning to see the problem," Carla says dryly, "How is it you've lived over a pawnshop your whole life and you still don't know how to make a sales pitch?"

Ford's face reddens in embarrassment. "Well, how would you describe it, then?"

"Me? I'd probably focus on the characters and drama. But for _Stan_..." Carla looks back up at her boyfriend and says, " _Galaxy Trek_ is the story of Captain Kirk and his travels aboard his ship, the _Enterprise_. Sometimes his adventures bring him closer to home; but sometimes they take him further out than any other human has gone before, leading him to explore unknown territories. And every episode is a new chance to join him on his journey as he takes on everything the galaxy has to throw at him."

Stan squints at the screen skeptically. "Ford said something about diplomacy, before."

Carla shrugs. "As far as 'diplomacy' goes in the show, Kirk is as likely to use his fists as he is his words."

Stanley's eyebrows jump up his forehead. "There's punching?" he demands.

"There's punching," she agrees.

Ford groans. "Please don't tell me _that's_ what will get you to finally watch _Galaxy Trek_ with me."

"Well, there's also all the pretty, female crewmembers and their miniskirt uniforms," Carla adds, returning to her pinwork.

"Wait, wait, wait! There's exploring, and punching, and _babes_ , too?"

"I'm surprised you'd use that as a selling point," Ford says, eyeing Carla.

Carla shrugs, secures another pin, and half-grumbles, "It's not like I can edit it out. Besides, he's allowed to _look_ at other girls. That just better be _all_ he does."

"Poindexter, if all that is true, you have _seriously_ been holding out on me. All that's missing is the treasure!"

"Done!" Carla declares triumphantly, "Go change, Stan. And so help me if you undo my pinwork before I can start stitching." She waves a finger at him in warning.

"Okay, okay!" Stan holds up his hands before retreating to his bedroom.

"Go ahead and rewind the tape, Ford," he hears Carla instruct behind him, "I've missed, like, half of the episode already, anyway."

After carefully extracting himself from the tux's pants (now decorated with enough pointy bits of metal that he's convinced they'd make any pincushion jealous) Stanley pulls on a comfortable pair of jeans. He snatches the pink trousers up again, hisses as his thumb finds one of the pins, and returns to the TV room. He passes them over to Carla who is already settled in on one corner of the couch with her sewing supplies all within easy reach.

"Later, nerds. Have fun," he calls back as he heads out of the apartment.

"You're not going to watch with us?" his twin asks after him, "I thought maybe you..." A sigh. "Never mind."

Stan freezes on the stairs and peeks over his shoulder. Ford has a crestfallen look covering his face as he fiddles with the remote in his hands. Stan risks a glance past his brother at Carla. If his girlfriend is wearing a similar expression, he's doomed.

And... It's worse.

From behind Stanford, Carla grins at Stanley like she's already won. She points at the teen beside her with both hands and silently mouths, 'Look at him! He's so sad!'

Stanley groans and backtracks. "I guess I could stay and watch a _few_ episodes."

Ford breaks into a huge grin. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure. But just this once." Stan makes himself comfortable between his two favorite nerds as Ford restarts the _Galaxy Trek_ marathon and Carla begins stitching. "It's not fair using Stanford against me like that, Carla," he whispers to his girlfriend.

She peeks up at him, pausing her sewing long enough to tuck her hair behind her ear and revealing a small, smug smile that gently curls her lips. She whispers back a cheery, "Nope!"

Stan huffs a silent laugh and settles back into the old couch. He can survive two, maybe three episodes of nerd-show if it will make Ford happy.

...Right?

He glances at his twin. Ford returns the look with a wide smile and excited hazel eyes that always appear a just bit larger than they actually are thanks to his glasses before refocusing his attention on the television set.

Yeah, totally.

"SPACE: THE FINAL FRONTIER..."

 **Several Episodes Later**

"Okay. It's official, Poindexter. You couldn't sell water to a man stranded in the desert," Stanley says blandly as the latest episode heads into its closing credits. He gestures at the television set with both hands. "That was awesome! How many episodes did you say you had recorded?"

Carla's poorly smothered laughter is easy to ignore in favor of Ford's eager chatter. From the sound of it, he has a lot to catch up on.

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	6. Sunday

**April 27, 1969**

The sound of hammering fills their secluded patch of seashore.

"Okay. What about Nancy?" Stan asks between swings.

Ford frowns at his twin. "Doesn't she have a boyfriend? Mark, I think?" The wood plank he's helping to support vibrates under his palms.

"Eh," Stan shrugs, "Pretty sure their relationship is on the rocks."

Ford groans. " _Stan_."

"What? They're practically broken up already!"

" _No._ "

"Fine, fine. ...Danielle?"

"She hasn't spoken to either of us since fifth grade!"

"What? Oh, right. The water-bombing prank. She didn't take that one very well, did she?" Stanley pauses mid-swing and looks at Ford, "She really hasn't talked to us _at all_ since then? It's not like we targeted her. We soaked the whole class! Including Missus Burton!"

"Not voluntarily. Her distaste for us has not been subtle."

"Huh. Danielle's probably a bad idea, then." Stan drives a few more nails in. "How about -"

"How about we drop this before you go any farther?" Ford suggests, "No one is _required_ to bring a date and I don't particularly _want_ to, either. The only reason I'm going at all is to avoid Ma's fussing, and she'll be the only one disappointed if I don't have a date. So, when we -"

"And Carla," Stan points out, "She'll be disappointed, too."

Ford sighs. "Don't remind me. The more I think about it, the more that twin crack seems like a threat than a joke."

"Heh. Knowing Carla, safer to assume it's both."

"I'm doomed. Anyway, we go, we lighten Crampelter's wallet, we come home, we lie through our teeth that the dance was enjoyable, and Ma probably won't mention my being dateless past the first few days after the fact. Not ideal, but bearable. And less humiliating than trying to ask out half the school the week before, like you seem to want me to."

"Alright, alright! I'll drop it. For now. But there's gotta be somebody who hasn't been asked yet and wouldn't mind going."

* * *

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	7. Monday

**April 28, 1969**

"Are you _sure_ the corsage is that important?" Stan asks with a pout as he leans over the railing of the _Stan O' War_.

"Yes, Stanley," Carla answers without looking up from the textbook in her lap and the homework she's doing.

Stan groans. "Just promise you won't get mad if I pick the wrong kind of flowers? I don't know any of that flower language thing."

"Pfft, is that what you're worrying about?" the girl leans back against the patchwork hull behind her and looks up at her boyfriend, "Relax, Stan. Flower language isn't standardized. The same flower could have dozens of different meanings depending on which system you're using - and sometimes even in the _same_ system! It would be silly to get upset over receiving the 'wrong' flowers."

Ford joins his brother in leaning over the port side of the ship. "It isn't standardized?"

"No. I mean, some things are pretty consistent - like red roses - but there's probably plenty of differences between that book you've been reading and the system I learned, for example."

"There goes that idea," Ford sighs. The teen slumps against the rail with a dissatisfied expression that is just shy of being a sulk.

Carla looks between the two quizzically.

Stanley smirks and confides, "He wanted to get you flowers."

Ford frowns at his twin. "Shut up before I throw you overboard," he deadpans.

Of course, his twin's words only encourage Stanley to continue his teasing. "Had this whole plan to steal you away for himself, see. And - _Ford! I was just kid_ \- Oof!" Stan lands hard in the sand next to Carla. He blinks up at his brother for a second before bursting into loud guffaws.

Ford rolls his eyes and returns to the work he was doing before on the ship's deck.

Carla pouts, absently tapping the eraser end of the pencil in her hand against her half-finished homework. "Are you telling me my best friend is willing to buy me flowers but my boyfriend isn't?"

"No, no!" Stan hurriedly pushes himself into a sitting position next to her. "Just, uh, tell me what I should be looking for?"

The girl giggles. "You're thinking too hard, Knucklehead," she says, letting her pencil fall to rest in the crease of the textbook, "Now then, these are for _Prom_ , so let's go with 'P' for this one."

"'P'?"

"Yep!" she chirps and begins counting off on her fingers, "The first is 'pretty.' That's a given."

"'Pretty' is simple enough," Stanley agrees, "What else?"

"'Pink'!"

Stan chuckles.

"Oh, and 'petite.' I'm going to be wearing it all night and something big might get cumbersome, especially while dancing - and you know I'm not letting you off that dance floor for anything short of the building catching fire.

"'Pleasant' is next - or maybe that should be 'Perfumed.' Either way, I want something that smells _nice_ , but not too strong. If you're not sure, better to go with something that doesn't have much of a smell at all. Don't get me something that stinks, Stan."

The boy nods. "Okay, so that's four 'p's," Stan recites, "Pretty, pink, petite, and pleasant. Any more?"

"Well, one more, but that comes after you buy them."

"After?"

"Mhm," Carla leans over and whispers like what she's about to tell him is a secret, "My boyfriend is getting me flowers. That makes them _perfect_ by default."

"That is _so_ sappy," Stan half-chuckles the words.

Carla only smiles. "You like it."

"You know I do, " he agrees, shifting closer.

"Stanley!" Ford's voice interrupts, "Are you going to help me, or are you too busy making out with Carla?"

Stan rolls his eyes, leans back, and yells back, "Making out with Carla!"

The girl in question laughs loudly. "Go," she tells him, "I still have homework I need to do."

The teen sighs. "Alright. One kiss before I go?"

Carla's answer comes in the form of soft lips meeting his.

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	8. Tuesday

**April 29, 1969**

Carla is the one who finds the small paperback while they're waiting for Ford to finish gathering his latest collection of library books. Stan, however, is the one who ends up with the book in his hands, reading short passages out loud for their mutual entertainment.

"Oh, you'll like this one," he says.

"Well? Go on!" Carla encourages, still giggling from the last one.

Stan clears his throat and reads, "I'm a pirate hunting for treasure, and I'd like to get my hands on your chests and booty." He peers over the pages at his girlfriend and waggles his eyebrows.

" _Pfft!_ "

"Heh!"

The two promptly burst into sidesplitting laughter that might get them kicked out if they do not quiet themselves soon.

"Oh my God!" Carla chokes out between desperate breaths, sliding down in her chair, "That one! It's officially my favorite! The best one in the whole book! Nothing can top it!"

When Ford eventually checks out his latest haul and meets them near the front of the library, he is understandably suspicious of the two still-sniggering teens.

Carla slips the copy of _100 Horrendous Pick Up Lines_ back on the shelf before following the twins out of the building.

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	9. Wednesday

**April 30, 1969**

One would think that 'pretty, pink, petite, and pleasant' wouldn't be very difficult to find. One would be wrong. Or, at least, one would be wrong by the time Stanley got around to actually looking for a corsage that fit Carla's description. Prom season is officially upon American high schools across the country, and apparently there are plenty of couples who don't care to wait for a cliche June wedding. In short, the three flower shops Stan had walked into had been slammed well before he'd ever shown up, their standard offerings whittled down to the rejects and every staff member busy working on custom orders that are of far greater priority than rebuilding sold stock. No one has time for a broke teenager who procrastinated too long.

Stan sits in his mother's window seat and drums his fingers on the phone book in his lap as he waits impatiently for the other side to pick up.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the line sounds elderly - should-probably-be-retired-by-now elderly - and feminine. Did he misdial and accidentally call some little, old lady?

"Yeah, is this," Stan squints at the tiny print - He really should have taken the time to grab his glasses before he started; they're a couple of years old, and prescription is a bit off now, but they still help with the whole seeing thing. - and tries to remember which number he'd dialed last, "uh, 'Flores de Flores?'"

"Yes, it is. May I help you, sir?" Well, in that case, it wouldn't hurt to at least ask, right?

"So my prom is the day after tomorrow and I don't have a corsage for my date yet. Ya got anything 'pretty, pink, petite, and pleasant' left in stock?"

There's an odd pause followed by, "Young man, your date wouldn't be Carlita McCorkle, would she?"

Stan pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it as if that will give him answers. "Uh, yeah. Her dad calls her that, sometimes," he says tentatively, "You know her?"

The woman's voice takes on a warm tone as she says, "I used to babysit Carlita and her sister after their mother passed."

"Oh." He's not sure what else to say after that.

A somber, knowing hum answers him. "I'll have a corsage ready by five this evening, young man. Don't be late," she instructs, "Do you need the address?"

"Oh, um, no," Stanley stammers, "It's in the phone book."

"Good, good. Ring the bell when you arrive."

"The bell?"

"That's right. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," he returns habitually before catching himself, "No, wait! I -" The dial tone sounds like it's mocking him. "Ugh." He considers calling back before deciding against it. The instructions were simple enough, if strange: five o'clock, address from the phone book, ring the bell.

 **2 Hours Later**

"This is it?" Ford asks from the passenger seat of the Stanleymobile, frowning at the address Stan had scribbled down from the phone book.

"I guess?" Stan says with a shrug as he parks in front of the little house, "It would explain the 'ring the bell' comment, at least."

Ford sighs as he steps out of the car and trails after his brother. He spares a glance down the street for no real reason beyond the fact that he knows Carla's home is in that general direction, only a few roads away.

Stan rings the bell and in mere moments the door opens to reveal an elderly woman.

"Uh, hi. I called earlier about a corsage for my girlfriend? Carla?"

The woman is nodding even before Stanley finishes talking. She eyes him up and down. "So, you're the one," she says before smiling, "She talks about you often."

Ford glances over at his twin and then back at the woman. Stan hadn't mentioned they would be meeting someone who knew Carla.

Stanley shifts self-consciously. "She does?"

"Mhm," she hums unhurriedly before her eyes fall on Stanford, "You must be the brother."

"Yes?"

"She speaks of you, as well," the old woman confides.

Ford shoots Stan another glance.

"Oh, right. This is, uh, Carla's old babysitter - uh, sorry, I didn't catch your name earlier," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

The woman tisks lightly. "Dalia Cortes Garcia de Flores," she says with a nod for each of them, "You may call me Misses Flores. Most people do." She looks between them again. "Forgive me, I've never been able to keep the names straight. Which one of you is 'Stanley?' And which one is 'Stanford?'"

Ford pushes aside the usual annoyance the admission brings with it. This woman has never so much as seen them before; it wouldn't be fair to get upset with her over being unable to tell them apart when she's only just met them.

Stan shrugs it off with an unbothered ease Ford knows he will never have. "That's alright. Everybody gets us mixed up the first few times. We're used to it," he assures her, "I'm Stanley. He's Stanford."

"Of course," she demures still intently studying them both, no doubt in an attempt to memorize who is who. Ford already knows it won't work. Stanley is right, no matter how much Ford wishes otherwise, nobody ever remembers how to tell them apart on the first try. Not long-term, anyway.

"Um, Missus Flores?" Stanley asks, "About that corsage?"

"Yes, yes," the woman nods as she turns around and begins to shuffle down the hall, "Come in. Close the door behind you." The twins look at each other - Ford tips his head after the elderly woman and Stan shrugs in response - before following after her.

The house is cramped but clean. The kitchen Misses Flores leads them to would be a decent enough size if it wasn't trying to double as the house's dining room, a small table and set of matching chairs taking up precious floor space. Five different corsages are lined up on the table with prices written neatly on slips of paper resting beside each one.

"Go on and pick one, young man."

Stanley approaches the table while his twin loiters by the kitchen's doorway. "Is this a test?" Stan asks, "It feels like a test."

Misses Flores only smiles and says, "Perhaps."

Stan groans and mutters, "It's a test." The teenager squints at the tiny flower arrangements. "What's with all the little blue and purple flowers? Carla only said pink."

The woman nods in agreement but grins and answers, "I've seen the dress. Carlita was eager to show it off."

"It's blue and purple?"

"Now, that would be telling," Misses Flores says, tone amused, "You'll have to wait a while longer before you find out."

Stan sighs and turns back to the flowers. The prices steadily increase from left to right. That rules out the one on the far left, and probably the one next to it, too. He's learned that the cheapest option is almost never the right option in dating; no matter how much happier that would make his wallet. (Well, he's broke until he wins his bet with Crampelter, so he'd snatched his twin's wallet before leaving the house. Ford's not particularly happy having his billfold routinely pinched, but he hasn't kicked up a fuss about it yet.) The one on the far right is out simply because it's the largest and probably doesn't fall within what Carla would consider 'petite' anymore.

Stanley dithers over the decision for another two minutes before picking one. "Do I pass?" he asks, pulling Ford's wallet out of his back pocket and selecting a few bills from its depths.

"I think so," Misses Flores says as she accepts the money, "but I'm not the one you need to impress."

"Right." Stan sighs. "You think she'll like it, though?"

The woman, either naturally short or rendered so by age, has to reach up in order to pat his shoulder. "I do." Misses Flores escorts the twins back to the front door. "I hope you both enjoy your dance. And be sure to treat Carlita well."

"Yes, ma'am."

She addresses Ford directly for the first time since she greeted them. "I expect my book back in the same condition you receive it in, young man."

Stan and Ford share another glance. "What book?" Ford asks as his brow furrows in confusion.

"It will find its way to you soon enough," the old woman assures him. "Goodbye, boys."

"Goodbye?"

The door closes gently. "She seemed... nice?" Ford hazards.

"Bro, I have no idea," Stan says as the walk back to the Diablo, "But, hey! One more thing taken care of for this stupid prom thing. So there's that."

"I'll take my wallet back, now. Also, between the bet, gas for the car, and the corsage just now, you're at thirty-five bucks you owe me."

He turns a wide-eyed, innocent look on his twin as he passes over the requested item. "C'mon, Ford, Buddy, Brother, you know I'm good for it!"

Ford rolls his eyes at Stanley's exaggerated expression as he accepts the billfold and slips it into his own pocket. "I know. Just making sure _you_ know."

Stanley sighs again. "Trust me, I'm keeping track. Prom is _expensive_."

Ford hums in agreement as he settles into the passenger seat.

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	10. Thursday

**May 01, 1969**

"So, maybe a bit late to be asking this, seeing as the prom is tomorrow and all, but is there anything else about this bet I should know?" Carla asks. The girl is lazily sprawled over the couch, head pillowed on her boyfriend's lap, as the television presents an episode of _Galaxy Trek_ that she (and Ford) has already seen but that Stan is watching for the first time. She absently twists a lock of hair around her finger as she watches the scene on the television play out.

Stan pushes the glasses that have begun to slip down his nose back up where they belong. It's nice being able to see the screen more clearly but he hates the feeling of the frames pressing against his nose and ears. "Eh, not really," he answers, "Probably best if you don't mention you know about it, though. Benjy'll claim you're only pretending to be my girlfriend to get a cut of the winnings or somethin' if you do."

Carla smirks up at him wryly. "To be fair, I _am_ taking a cut."

The show breaks for commercial and the teenager chooses to focus on his girlfriend rather than hit the fast-forward button on the VCR his twin had cobbled together a full year before they'd been available commercially. "Yeah, but you're not pretending, which is the part that actually matters. I'm winning this thing fair and square for a change and I ain't gonna let Crampelter have any reason to wriggle out of paying up."

"Fine, fine," she says, "I'll play the good, little, oblivious girlfriend for your buddies at school."

Stan scoffs. "I don't think I'd call any of those guys my 'buddies,' and _especially_ not Benjamin Crampelter. I mean, some of them are okay. I guess. But I wouldn't trust any of 'em to have my back in a fight."

Carla frowns up at her boyfriend. "Who _is_ Benjamin Crampelter, and why does it always seem like you're itching to go a couple rounds in the ring with him?"

"I wish," he says, eyes taking on a shine at the idea, "I'd pummel his fat ass, now."

" _Stanley_."

"Alright, alright. I -" Stan peeks over the back of the couch and checks to make sure the hall leading to the back of the apartment is clear. He's suddenly very glad that Ford has decided to sequester himself in their room today to work on some personal, nerdy science project and isn't sitting in the living room with them. Ma's out shopping for groceries at the moment, and Pops is down in the pawnshop, working. He and Carla more or less have the place to themselves. He still lowers his voice a bit as he continues, "I don't like Crampelter because he used to bully me and Ford, okay? He and his stupid goons used to beat us up just 'cause they didn't like us, or some other dumb reason. I dunno. It stopped when me and Ford learned how to punch back. Turns out Pops was right. Bullies are lazy cowards."

Carla's expression grows pinched as he speaks. The girl sits up and folds her hands in her lap to keep herself from fidgeting. "You said he stopped, though," she points out quietly.

Stan sighs, wraps an arm around her, and pulls her close again. "Uh-huh, _after_ we made it more work than it was worth to keep whaling on us."

"Maybe, maybe he's grown up some since then," she tries, "Matured."

"Carla," Stanley groans, letting his head fall to rest on the back of the couch. He stares at the ceiling as he says, "I know you wanna think the best of everybody you meet, but Benny Boy is _not_ a nice guy."

"But, what if -"

"No, no! I know for a _fact_ he hasn't gotten any better," Stan insists, lifting his head again so he can see her, "For starters, he's still beating up some'a the younger kids at school. And -" He breaks off and rubs the back of his neck. "Look, don't tell our folks about this, but just 'cause Crampelter stopped trying to beat the stuffing outta us doesn't mean he stopped pickin' on us completely, okay? I don't think the creep has ever _once_ used our names. We're not 'Stanley' and 'Stanford' to him. He wants our attention? He calls for 'Pines' and 'Freak.' _That's_ the kind of guy he is."

Carla stiffens against his side, lips pressing into a thin line. The commercial break ends and she turns back to face the television. "You should have taken him for a hundred."

"Don't think he would have gone for a bet that big," he says, rubbing circles into her shoulder, "but I'll keep you in mind the next time I come up with something new for ol' Benjy, okay?"

"Good."

By the time the episode comes to an end, Stan can't remember much of what happened in it but Carla isn't so tense and rigid beside him anymore. He's willing to call it a worthwhile episode just for that.

* * *

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	11. An Interlude with Carla and Ford

**May 02, 1969**

"Thanks for dropping me off, Daddy," Carla says before leaning over to kiss the man's cheek.

John McCorkle grunts lightly in place of a verbalized 'you're welcome' as she hops out of the car only to turn around and open the rear passenger door to collect her things from the back. "Are you sure you don't want me to go in there and put the fear of God into that boy?" her father asks.

"Daddy," Carla groans as she grabs her bag and prom dress, "you've read him the riot act _every time_ he's picked me up for a dance. I think he gets it. And we'll have Ford with us all night!" She resists the urge to _slam_ the rear door closed in a fit of pique and exasperation. Instead, the teen swallows down her temper, hip checks the car door shut, and stoops next to the front of the car in order to watch the man's expression as she pleads, "Can't you skip the lecture just this once?"

John's frown is a hair away from becoming a full on scowl as he stares out the windshield and says, "I don't trust him." He remains seated, however, and doesn't leave the car.

Carla decides to press further. "You trust me, though. Don't you, Daddy?" the teenager asks with big eyes.

John gives her a flat look for her trouble. "In most things," her father answers evenly, "Not so sure about your taste in men. This one might be better than the last one, but you could do better."

Carla's expression falls. "Gee, thanks." The girl sighs. "Between you and Cassie, I have so much support in my relationships."

The man shrugs and offers, "Chuck has a son about your age. I wouldn't mind having his family for in-laws."

Carla frowns at her father. "I like Chuck. I'm sure his son is very nice," she says, "I'm _happy_ with Stanley."

John shrugs. "Just a suggestion, Carlita." He goes out of his way to achieve and maintain eye-contact as he instructs her, "Be sure to keep that boy in his place. And don't go along with any foolish ideas I'm going to get called in to straighten out later."

"Yes, Sir," the teen murmurs in answer.

The man nods and his expression softens some. "Have a good time, sweetheart."

Carla musters a half-hearted smile in return. "I will," she promises as she steps back from the car and straightens, "Goodbye, Daddy."

The matriarch of the Pines family exits the front door of the pawnshop before John can answer, causing the man to hesitate in his departure. "Carla!" the woman greets enthusiastically.

Carla's smile turns genuine in an instant. "Ma!" John clears his throat and Carla hastily corrects herself to a polite, "Misses Pines."

Maude tisks playfully. "None of that, now," she dismisses, "I've told you before to call me 'Ma.'"

Carla glances at her father. The man resigns himself with a sigh and nods. "Yes, Ma," she chirps happily.

Ma smirks in satisfaction briefly but the expression soon gives way to a warmer, more friendly grin and she bends to address the man in the car. "And hello to you, too, Officer McCorkle."

"Misses Pines," he responds stiffly.

"Don't worry, the boys will take good care of Carla tonight," Maude says, though it is obvious that it does little to reassure the other parent of his child's wellbeing, "And I'll make sure to send copies of the photos home with Carla once they've been developed!"

"Photographs, right. Thank you," John says, if reluctantly, and nods in farewell, "Ladies."

Maude waits until the car has disappeared around the corner before remarking, "One day, I'm going to get that man to stop looking at me like he suspects I'm the Pied Piper. Then the real trick will be getting him and Filbrick to be cordial to each other."

"That would be a trick," Carla agrees then adds, "He worries a lot. About me, mostly."

Ma grins down at her. "That's because you're worth worrying about." The woman follows her statement by planting a theatric pair of kisses on the girl's cheeks and relieving her of the garment bag. "Don't _you_ worry, though, sweetie. I'll make sure he comes around before the wedding!" Carla giggles. "But for now, let's focus on getting you ready for this big dance." Maude leads the way and holds the door open for her, welcoming her inside.

* * *

"Stan! Stop preening and hurry up!" Ford yells at the bathroom door, "Carla just showed up and Ma went down to meet her!"

"Alright! Alright!" his twin bellows back, "Keep your pants on, Poindexter!"

Ford rolls his eyes.

Nervous hands sweep over his borrowed tux for at least the fourth time in a search for nonexistent wrinkles. He's never gone to a dance before and he isn't sure what to expect - except in so far as knowing that it is a social event and that he is abysmal in social situations. If he's lucky he'll be able to loiter unnoticed around the edges until it's time to leave.

"Hi, Ford!" Carla greets before she so much as reaches the landing for the second floor, the backpack she normally uses for school slung over her shoulder. Ma ascends the stairs only a few steps behind the girl with a dry cleaner's bag draped over one arm. Upon spotting Filbrick in his easy chair, Carla adds, "Hello, Mister Pines."

"Hello," Stanford returns the greeting.

"McCorkle," his father grunts without so much as glancing away from the television.

The girl's attention pivots back to Ford now that the demands of basic civility have been met.

"Stan told me you never found a date," Carla states as she sets her bag on the dining table.

"No," his reluctant answer comes out just shy of being a mutter as he cautiously approaches, "I didn't." More to the point, he hadn't bothered asking anyone. Even someone who was well-liked at his school would probably have struggled to secure a date with only a week's notice, and he was far from being 'well-liked' at school. 'Tolerated' would be closer to the truth.

The girl nods absently as she undoes the bag's latches and her hands disappear into its depths.

"Tada!" Carla chirps as she pulls out a book - one that might be thick enough to be considered a _tome_ \- on flower language and small box of the same type as the one in the fridge holding the corsage Stanley had bought just days ago. Carla sets the box on top of the book and slides the two items along the table's surface until they're resting directly in front of Ford. She bumps their shoulders together as she says, "These are for you, Poindexter. But I need the book back once you're done with it."

"You got me a boutonniere?" he asks, unsure why he is surprised by the gesture. He shouldn't be. It is entirely within Carla's established patterns of behavior. Sometimes he forgets, for all that she is Stanley's girlfriend, how excellent a friend she is to him outside of her relationship with his brother.

"Well, you don't have a date to do it and it's really part of the whole prom experience. Also, you wanted to learn flower language so I was practically obligated in the interest of being a good friend, you see," Carla justifies with a teasing lilt, "And flower language is too ambiguous unless the people involved are using the same reference. Oh, and I'll give you the same warning I gave Stan: not every message that can be given in flowers will be one you'd want to receive."

Stanford has a wide grin stretched over his face by the time Carla is finished rambling. "You are so much better than having a date," he decides.

Carla snorts in skepticism but returns his grin. "We'll see if you still think that by the end of the night, Poindexter."

Stanley chooses that moment to finally exit the bathroom.

"Carla!" he calls in delight. Stan spins on the spot to show off his tuxedo, sans the jacket still hanging in their shared closet, and hooks his thumbs under his suspenders once he completes the three-sixty. "I clean up pretty good, right?"

Ford rolls his eyes at his brother's antics but Carla breaks into giggles beside him, so he can only assume that Stan did something right. That doesn't change the fact that his twin has an ego to rival a peacock.

Stanford scoops up his gifts and makes a tactical retreat to his bedroom as the couple starts flirting.

He sits down at the sole desk in the room. Ford opens the box first, revealing a small collection of flowers in varying hues of purple. The largest bloom is a bluish-violet colored iris, he knows, but he doesn't recognize the others as readily. There is a sprig of small blossoms of a pinkish-lavender color to one side of the iris. On the other side are two light-purple flowers with bright yellow stamens and red, thread-like pistils originating from the flowers' centers.

Stanford turns his attention to the tome, taking in a set of bookmarks sticking out from the pages. (It would appear Carla has anticipated his lack of knowledge.) Ford pries the large book open at the first mark.

...And it's no wonder book is so thick. The pages are full of colored pictures for each entry, likely to aid in identification.

There are no irises on the first spread of pages but Ford matches the sprig on the boutonniere with one of the photos in the book. 'Heather,' apparently, meaning in general 'good luck' and 'protection'; or more specifically, by their purple coloring, they signify 'admiration' and 'beauty' with a secondary meaning of 'solitude.'

Is that last part a crack at him not having a date? He isn't sure. Ford rolls his eyes anyway and pointedly ignores the part about 'beauty.' (He is approximately eighty-seven percent certain that bit is a call back to her 'hot twins' quip from when this whole debacle started. The other thirteen percent is confusing and not something he is equipped to so much as process.)

The second bookmark has irises, which apparently have three separate meanings just for this coloration alone: 'friendship' and 'admiration,' 'a message' or 'good news,' and 'faith' and 'wisdom.' The third seems irrelevant but the first two are topical. It's also quite flattering that 'admiration' has come up twice now.

The third type of flowers turn out to be saffron crocuses which have only one listed meaning.

"'Beware of excess'?" Stanford questions the empty room, "What does that even mean? What excess am I supposed to be wary of?" To put it simply, he is utterly bewildered and he doesn't have a clue how to read this last part of Carla's gift. He could ask but that feels too much like failure and he _hates_ the idea of failing a test. Not that this is a test, per se, but it suddenly feels like it is. The answer has to be somewhere. He just needs to find it. "What am I missing?"

"Knock, knock!" his mother's voice calls through the open doorway.

"Ma," he greets in surprise, twisting around in the desk chair to see her.

"I thought you could use a little help," the woman says, absently gesturing for him to stand as she approaches. Ma plucks the boutonniere off the desk and out of its box.

"Oh, um, thank you."

"You boys have grown up so fast!" she remarks as she affixes the miniature flower arrangement to his jacket, "It won't be much longer before you start getting ready to leave home. I'm not sure I'll be ready to let my two babies go!"

"We still have another year of high school before any of that," Stanford tries, uncomfortable with seeing tears well up in his mother's eyes.

And for the first time he realizes that he actually stands eye-to-eye with her, now. When had he reached the same height as his mother? (And in another sudden realization, it occurs to him that in another year's time he'll likely be taller than her. In the grand scope of things, a single year compared to the previous almost-seventeen isn't very long at all, is it? A mere five-point-six percent of the total eighteen years worth of time.)

"Bah!" Ma waves off his comment and swipes a thumb under her eyes to catch the tears, "It's the way of things. Boys grow up to be men and lead their own lives, and their mothers get all emotional about it. Nothing wrong with that."

"There you are!" Stan crows as he enters the room, "Carla says she needs help with her hair, and make-up, and stuff!"

"Oh!" Ma exclaims, bringing her hands up in a giddy clap, "Girl time!" It's almost as if the tears were never there as the woman hurries from the room.

Stan shrugs into his suit jacket and tugs the lapels. "What do think, Ford? Do I look good, or do I look good?" he asks with a self-satisfied smile.

Stanford does his best to shake off the emotional whiplash and levels a flat expression at his twin. He crosses his arms and states, "Carla should have let you wear that gaudy sequin one you found last week. It would have matched better with your ego."

Stanley only laughs.

* * *

 **Read chapters sooner on Archive of Our Own: archiveofourown dot org slash works slash 8737576**

 **Read the entire Dimension 297 series on AO3: archiveofourown dot org slash series slash 457846**


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